


after coachella

by orphan_account



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Weird shit happens at Coachella because.... it's Coachella and that's canon take my word for it, coachella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: prompt fill for, "I'm too sober for this."





	after coachella

          There’s a Norwegian producer sitting on the balcony when the screen door quietly opens and closes behind the newest arrival. Martijn takes a seat in the chair across from Magnus, who looks up from his knitting.

      “It’s wild in there,” Martijn sighs, and Magnus nods in agreement.

      “Very,” he says, and although the sun is barely starting to peak over the tops of the mountains, Magnus doesn’t doubt it. But for now, out here, there’s a moment of peace.

xxx

          It happens at Coachella, because of course it does. Well, technically, they figure out what happens _after_ Coachella, but it all _began_ at Coachella. It’s just after eleven in the morning on Monday the 24th of April. Sonny squints and leans closer to the computer screen. The security footage from last night is rolling, and in it a rather unsteady Frenchman is pushed up against the wooden door by an equally unsteady Sonny. Not that that the man’s being French narrows it down any— William is just one of the five people in the room hailing from France.

          “I’m too sober for this.” Sonny attempts to cover his eyes with his hand but Wes quickly yanks it back down, forcing him to watch the security footage.

          “Damn, never thought I’d see Sonny pinning DJ Snake to a wall before getting the life kissed out of him by someone else.” Louis rocks back from the computer and turns to grin at Porter. He’d been lurking around the house the entire night and nobody was quite sure where he had been sleeping. There were rumors about him sleeping on top of an ironing board in the closet. “Did you expect this?”

          “Well, I expected it less than I expected myself sleeping with Dillon. But the wild French threesome last night was even less expected than Sonny doing the pinning.”

          “Shut up, Porter.” Porter can’t see from where he’s standing, but he’s positive Hugo’s blushing.

          “I hope you washed that cross this morning?”

          “Stop. Talking.”

xxx

_They’re in the Sahara Tent watching Galantis. Hugo and Porter finished up and wanted to watch some of the set— “come onnn Dillon, it’ll be fun!” — so they walked across the grounds towards the looming white hanger. Dillon found them and now stands next to them in the crowd. Near the three, a group of college students from San Diego passes a joint around. The boy closest to Dillon notices him and nudges the friend with the joint, and he quickly offers it to Dillon. It’s hard to talk over the volume of the music, but Hugo and Porter smile at Dillon as he politely declines. They keep dancing, and Dillon does a quick check for the tent exits. There are a few on the sides, but the tent isn’t very well ventilated and Dillon can already feel himself getting slightly buzzed from the secondhand smoke._

_When they eventually have to leave to go get good spots for Justice, Porter hangs on Hugo’s side, drawing weird looks from festival-goers but much too high to care. “I want fries,” Porter whines, and Dillon huffs._

_“Fine. If it keeps me from hearing it one more time, so be it.” Hugo digs out his wallet and leaves Porter with Dillon as he goes in search of the requested snack._

_Dillon looks at Porter. Lights from distant stages bounce off Porter’s cheekbones as Porter looks back. Dillon’s not sure which one of them initiates it, but by the time Hugo returns with the french fries Dillon has an armful of high Porter kissing him like his life depends on it._

_“Sérieusement?” Porter jumps away from Dillon, who attempts to straighten out his shirt. Hugo hands Porter his fries and rolls his eyes at the two of them. “I don’t care. You two can do whatever the fuck you want as long as you stay safe and I don’t have to be there to witness it.”_

_“Whatever the fuck we want,” Dillon giggles, and as Hugo sighs Dillon can’t help but wonder if perhaps he’s a little less sober than he previously thought._

_xxx_

_Justice is on stage, Sonny and the rest of the crew watching in awe. Someone taps Sonny on the shoulder and he spins. It’s William, a wide grin flashing in the white lights. The bass is pounding so loud Hugo and Porter have earplugs in, and Sonny’s ears ring with it. Feeling the music in his chest makes his heart yearn for something, and William knows. It isn’t something they’ve written or produced themselves— it was what inspired all of the men on the rail. And everything’s spinning, Sonny’s starting to lose himself to the siren song of the music he loves and the bass and the lights and the energy of the crowd, and then he’s being grabbed and someone’s kissing the life out of him._

_Sonny’s glasses are knocked askew, but even then he can tell whom it is when they let him go. Wes looks almost sheepish about it and quickly turns to face the stage. Sonny hadn’t seen him appear, and his heart races faster than the music._

_Then William’s there, slinging a protective arm around Sonny. Wes turns to face them, expression hard to read but mostly curious. None of the others besides the three of them are really paying much attention— Porter’s dancing too hard to really care, Hugo’s watching the stage with something that could be called worship, and Dillon’s too stoned to notice. Wes slings his arm around Sonny from the other side, and there’s a silent staring match between the Wes and William. But gradually they all go back to dancing and watching the stage, and the ice between them begins to melt._

_It’s some time towards the third quarter of the set that Sonny feels William’s hand move from his back over towards Wes. Sonny watches Wes’s expression as William takes his hand, and when there’s a small smile Sonny has a flicker of hope._

_xxx_

_There’s a hand on Hugo’s wrist, pulling him towards what Hugo assumes is the bedroom. He’s not sure who it is, is starting to stumble, but there’s a broad hand on his lower back steadying him. The one who’s dragging him stops to flick on a light and Hugo sees it’s Xavier, smile sharp. The one following— must be Gaspard, he reasons— presses against Hugo’s back and the ever-present cross is ice against his bare skin._

_xxx_

_Out in the living room, Dillon stumbles back onto the couch and falls with Porter on top of him. They’re still for a moment, Porter staring down at Dillon, before both burst into laughter._

_“I’m so fucking high,” Porter admits, and Dillon nods seriously._

_“Fucking assholes smoking in the Sahara tent,” he agrees, squeaking when Porter grabs his legs and swings them lengthwise onto the couch so Porter can settle on top of him._

_xxx_

_Porter wakes up and can’t feel his legs. He freezes and a million horrible thoughts run through his head before he cranes his head down to look. Porter’s neck complains bitterly, but it’s worth it to be able to see that Dillon is passed out on top of him, head on Porter’s chest and covered in a blanket. Who covered them with a blanket? It’s rather unimportant— Porter has bigger problems to think about, including the young DJ flopped across his legs. “Oh god.” Dread flows through Porter’s veins as he takes in the sight of Martin Garrix asleep on him. Porter shoves Dillon’s shoulder, and Dillon grumbles awake._

_“What?” Dillon’s pissed, and Porter doesn’t exactly blame him. They’re both hungover as hell, Dillon slightly more so, but Dillon still turns his head and freezes. “Shit, the little one’s here.”_

_**“Did we sleep with Martijn?”**_

_Dillon and Porter both think for a moment, trying their collective hardest to remember what the hell happened. “No, I don’t think so?” Dillon finally manages, and Porter audibly exhales._

_There’s a suspiciously loud shout from the other side of the house, and Porter and Dillon stare at each other. “What.”_

_There’s more shouting, and soon enough Martijn begins to stir. He’s halfway on the couch and halfway off, so he groans as he comes to and the knots in his back register. Martijn flops to the ground and falls on his knees as Porter and Dillon watch in amused horror. The man blinks up at them, eyes unfocused and blurry with sleep. “The hell happened last night?”_

_Linus— how the hell had Linus and Christian gotten here, Porter wonders— wanders by, a half empty beer bottle in hand. “Trust me, kid, none of us know.”_

_Dillon’s laughter earns annoyed shouts from the several previously sleeping residents of the house, but Porter can’t bring himself to care very much._

_xxx_

_Hugo looks like hell when he stumbles into the kitchen. The fact he’s wearing white skinny jeans several sizes too small doesn’t help, either. Porter turns to look at him but doesn’t lift his head from the nice, cool granite countertop. Dillon grunts a welcome but doesn’t even open his eyes. Martijn says hello and flips over the omelet he’s making._

_“I…. have witnessed the second coming.”_

_Dillon snorts and picks his head up when Martijn sets a plate of food in front of him._

_“Of Jesus?” Porter sneaks a bite of Dillon’s omelet, and the horrified man waves his fork at Porter._

_“Of Xavier.”_

_Martijn’s delighted laughter filters through the house as Porter misses the omelet and gets Dillon’s hand instead._

xxx

      Hugo’s the one to open the door when the doorbell rings and comes face to face with a small brunette. “Good morning, I’m here for Martijn.” The state of Hugo’s appearance suddenly registers to him, and his cheeks flush. His hair’s a mess from Xavier pulling on it earlier, he lost his shirt sometime yesterday evening, and the jeans he’s wearing definitely aren’t his.

      “I am very sorry about this, madame, I’ll go find Martijn for you right away.”

      “Thank you.” Martijn’s mom thankfully doesn’t comment, so Hugo resolves to make it quick.

      He races into the kitchen, where Christian and Linus sit close together while across the counter Xavier pops small bits of toast into Gaspard’s mouth. “Have any of you seen Martijn?”

      Porter yells from a couple rooms over. “Yeah, I think he’s out on the balcony with Magnus!”

      “He’s out on the balcony with Magnus or _he’s out on the balcony with Magnus?”_

      “The first one I think! Is the second one even legal?”

      “I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s almost 21?”

      Sure enough, Martijn is out on the balcony across from Magnus. They’re sitting in silence, and Hugo hates to have to tear them apart.

      And if Magnus’s eyes linger for a moment when Martijn leaves, who is Hugo to tell?  


End file.
